


The Courage of Stars

by merildis



Series: Atlas [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-01 09:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merildis/pseuds/merildis
Summary: If you love someone, you have to be able to protect them.(Nine years, told in snapshots.)





	1. 2005

_You taught me the courage of stars before you left_

_How light carries on, endlessly, even after death._

–

 

When Snake turns around, Otacon finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He... probably should have expected that. Regardless, he starts and jumps back, his stealth camo flickering off as he raises his hands in defense and ducks his head. “It's me, Snake!

“Otacon? How did you get up here?” Otacon hazards a glance up through his lashes and watches as Snake lowers his weapon. He can feel Snake’s eyes on him, sizing him up with the calculated precision he’s come to expect from soldiers. Expecting it, however, doesn’t make it any more comfortable. He avoids looking Snake in the eye, choosing instead to push up his glasses and study the pattern of the corrugated metal floor as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

“It wasn’t as dramatic as your entrance,” Otacon says without entirely looking up, “believe me.” He laughs, a breathy, nervous sound, “I’m afraid of heights.”

Snake’s brows knit together. “You were watching?”

Otacon nods. “Yeah,” he fiddles with the pull on his zipper, pulls his jacket tighter over his shoulders, busies himself enough that he won't need to meet Snake’s eyes.

Snake leans back against the railing. “But how did you get up here?”

“The elevator, of course.”

“The elevator was working?”

“Yeah.” They fall quiet for a moment, watching each other carefully. Finally, desperate to fill the silence that’s making him feel more and more like Snake is scrutinizing every detail about him, Otacon speaks up, “You’re incredible, Snake.” Snake raises an eyebrow, head cocked to the side. “L-like a movie hero, or something,” Otacon adds lamely, shifting under Snake’s gaze.

Snake shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, voice almost swallowed by the emptiness of the elevator shaft, “you’re wrong. In the movies, the hero always saves the girl.” Snake’s expression is unreadable when he turns toward the railing, slipping a cigarette from his pack and letting it dangle between his lips. His lighter clicks once, twice before igniting, the sound like a gunshot in the silence that stretches between them now. Otacon watches a thin curl of gray smoke dissipate in the cold air.

Of course. Otacon should have known it would be a bit of a sore subject, all things considered, but he let his big mouth get ahead of him. “Sorry, forget I said anything.” _The hero always saves the girl._ He and Snake both have a girl they're trying to save, but Otacon knows he’s no hero – Snake may be able to save Meryl, but Sniper Wolf? He has no idea what will happen to her now. Even if they both get out of this alright, what then? The uncertainty twists his stomach.

“Have you ever… loved someone?”

Hal isn’t sure why he asks. The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks about it, but he immediately feels heat creep up his face. Snake doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy touchy-feely questions, but it’s already out in the open now, so Hal just shifts uncomfortably and mentally kicks himself for the slip-up.

“Is that what you came to ask?” Snake is still leaning over the railing, but he fixes Hal with a measured gaze over his shoulder that makes him squirm.

“No, I mean…” Hal’s tongue flicks out over his lips, eyes flitting away from Snake’s gaze. “I just… I was wondering if even soldiers fell in love.”

Snake tenses and he takes a drag from his cigarette, turning all the way around and leaning back against the railing again to give Hal an incredulous look. “What are you trying to say?” He exhales, smoke thin and gray in the cold air.

“I wanna ask you…” What _does_ he want to ask? His mouth is dry, mind jumbled. “Do you think love can bloom even on a battlefield?”

Snake is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he takes another drag, “I do.” He exhales, and Hal watches him drag a hand back through his hair. “I think at any time, any place, people can fall in love with each other,” he sighs, flicks the ash from the end of his cigarette with his thumb. Hal watches the cinders fall to the corrugated metal floor. “But, if you love someone, you have to be able to protect them.”

A pause; silence yawns open between them, slices the room in two until Hal finally speaks. “Yeah,” Hal says, slowly, carefully, “I think so, too.” Snake purses his lips and turns back toward the railing, leaning out over the emptiness below. _If you love someone, you have to be able to protect them._ Hal turns the words over in his brain, feels them settle at the bottom of his stomach. Snake is right, he figures, but how can he protect Sniper Wolf when he’s nothing but a scrawny, scared engineer? He’s never protected anyone in his life.

Then again, maybe that’s why he’s lost everyone he’s loved in the first place.

Snake’s back is to Hal again now, and his grip on the railing is white-knuckled. Looking at him, Hal can see that even despite his earlier protests, Snake really _is_ like something out of an action movie. He’s more than a little bit intimidating, all broad shoulders and corded muscle and quiet confidence. But there’s something a little charming about him, too, a kind of rugged, almost accidental charisma that makes Hal a bit more flustered than he’d like to admit. He’s everything Hal _isn’t_.

“I have a favor to ask you.” Snake’s voice cuts through Hal’s thoughts and quiets them in an instant.

“Uh oh,” Hal cracks a half smile that he hopes looks playful, but he suspects is just awkward.

Snake returns the gesture, looking far more suave than Hal did. “Don’t worry,” he says, dropping his cigarette to the metal floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. “It’ll be easy.”

“Um…” Telling him not to worry is the exact thing that tends to make Hal worry. “I told you before,” Hal pushes his glasses up his nose and shoves his other hand into the pocket of his coat, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” Snake is suddenly far more serious, “I don’t want you to either.”

There’s something about the way Snake looks at him then that makes Hal trust him more than he should. “Okay,” Hal nods. “Okay, what do you need?”


	2. 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hudson River, October 2007.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor emetophobia warning for this one, but it's super brief.

Snake is far too still when Otacon pulls him from the water. His hands shake as he brings one to Snake’s throat, feeling frantically for a pulse, his other hand splaying out over his unmoving chest. He’s frozen for a beat, staring down at Snake’s too-still body with unabashed horror before the adrenaline in his veins throws him forward. Carefully, he tilts Snake’s head to the side and watches a thin trickle of murky water escape from his mouth, and then he’s on top of him, lacing his shaking fingers over his breastbone like he's practiced, exhaling for what feels like an eternity before he feels Snake’s chest rise beneath his palms.

Technically, Otacon realizes with detached horror as he counts to thirty and leans in again to Snake’s mouth, this is their first kiss. It's almost a little funny - it's just his luck that his first kiss with Snake would be like this, huh? So many people Hal has loved have died, and now Snake is dying, too, all because he managed to royally fuck things up _again_. He counts out the last thrust against Snake’s chest and leans in again to exhale into his lungs. He stays deathly still.

Hal can feel his own chest tightening, breath coming in painful, panicked sobs. The rain is icy, stinging his skin where it touches and making everything slippery beneath his fingers, falling from his hair onto his partner’s pallid face. He’s so pale, so still and all Hal can think about is his father’s body in the water, the bile in the back of his throat, how he couldn't stop _staring,_ couldn’t move even when E.E. was screaming at him. This is his fault, the same as it was then. Maybe, maybe if Hal hadn't been so selfish, maybe if he had told him beforehand, maybe if he hadn't been so blindly trusting, none of this would have happened. He should have protected him, should have done something _, anything_ , but -

Hal reaches thirty in his head, pinches Snake’s nose, and exhales again, struggling to find enough air in his lungs. He's grateful he's pounded the process into his mind thoroughly enough that he can move through the steps on muscle memory alone, because he doesn't trust his own brain at the moment. He always thought adrenaline was meant to make your mind clearer, make you able to focus, but instead everything is jumbled, hazy, and all he can think about is how goddamn funny it is that David is going to drown, just like his father did, just like Emma almost did. Another victim of his own selfish stupidity, lying cold and ashen beneath him. He isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or throw up.

 But with a sudden, sickeningly wet noise, David coughs, eyes open and unfocused. Hal reels back and stares at him in wide-eyed confusion before the part of his brain that’s still managing to function through the panic constricting his lungs and sending his heart pounding remembers to shift him to his side before he vomits. Hal winces and turns his head away as David retches, glad that the sound can barely be heard over the storm. After a too-long moment, he lets himself fall back against the bottom of the boat, and Hal rushes to pull him up into a sitting position. For a beat, they stare at each other, and then Hal pitches forward and fists his hands in the front of David’s sneaking suit. “You’re alive,” his breath hitches, the words barely intelligible over the din of the storm. Finally, Hal can afford to breathe, to let the tension in his spine release bit by bit. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s _alive._

David is shivering, and Hal can hear his teeth chattering, breath ragged by his ear, but he wraps his arms around Hal anyway. “Otacon?” The sound of his voice, made rough by the murky water, is so low that Hal almost doesn’t hear it. “You… did you…?”

Hal is gasping for air like _he’s_ the one who’d been drowning, still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he nods against David’s shoulder, “yeah, I… you were…I-I performed CPR,” he says, muffled by David’s soaking-wet sneaking suit.

He’s still shivering, but David tightens his arms around Hal’s shoulders. “Holy shit,” he breathes, “Christ, Otacon.” Hal can tell he’s still a little dazed, barely managing to form coherent sentences, but he’s _alive_ and whole and his arms are around his shoulders, his face pressed into Hal’s wet hair, and he isn't lying cold and still and pale beneath him.

They don’t have enough time – there’s this sickening, metallic sound from the tanker underneath them and Hal knows they have to go. _Now._ But he’s frozen in place, the two of them curled together on the small boat, rocking on the waves while the rain pummels them. Hal shivers and there’s another foreboding sound from beneath and he realizes that he needs to get David somewhere warm and dry before hypothermia finishes the job his near-drowning started, or the tanker drags them both under and finishes the job itself. David makes an indistinct noise at the loss of warmth, not quite coherent enough to protest, but Hal flings himself at the wheel and steers the boat back to shore.

By the time Hal has dragged Dave to their car, thankfully hidden in a back alley not too far away, he’s a little more lucid. “Come on,” Hal mutters, pulling the door open and shuffling David into the back seat. He circles around to the turn the key in the ignition and cranks the heat up to full blast.

Dave is already trying to peel off his sneaking suit with weak, trembling hands when Hal crawls into the backseat beside him. “Y-you weren’t supposed to come back for me,” Dave’s teeth chatter incessantly, and Hal gently pushes his fumbling fingers away and takes over the job of removing his wet clothing.

“I couldn’t just leave you,” Hal says simply because his heart is still pounding and he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“The mission –“

“The mission comes first, I know, but…” Hal stops fiddling with Dave’s clothing and looks at him. There’s blood on his forehead, trickling from a wound hidden by his hairline and his expression is so open that it’s almost unfamiliar. “I wasn't going to let you die.” The warmth from the car’s heater makes Hal’s freezing skin burn, but his hair is starting to dry, at least, and after discarding his soaked hoodie, he’s starting to warm up marginally. It isn’t the cold that’s making his hands shake, now. _I couldn’t let you die like everyone else._

David is quiet. Hal isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t know how to answer or because his mind is still too sluggish to find the words. Regardless, he helps Hal peel off his sneaking suit the rest of the way and settles against the car door while Hal leans over the back of the seat to grab the pile of ratty thrift store blankets from the trunk. He tucks them carefully around Dave’s shivering shoulders. His skin is still ice cold wherever Hal’s fingers brush it, but there’s color returning to his face now, at least, and his breathing has settled into something close to normal.

The distant sound of sirens reminds Hal that even though they’re out of the water they’re still racing against the clock and so he clamors gracelessly back over the console and into the driver’s seat. They have a backup safehouse in Queens and though it's still too close for Hal’s comfort, there's no way they're gonna get very far without giving David a chance to rest and treating his wounds. Once they get inside, it only takes a moment before Hal’s kneeling in front of Dave, armed with a first aid kit and a change of clothes. He breathes deep and sets to work with trembling hands.

There’s a gash along his ribs still steadily leaking blood and Dave hisses through his teeth when Hal moves in to disinfect it. “Sorry,” he mutters and Dave just grunts in response. It's not deep enough to need stitches, thank God, because Hal isn't sure he's capable of that at the moment. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach now, his fingers slick with blood and he can't quiet the voice in the back of his head reminding him that this is his fault. Ocelot set the trap and Hal took the bait, ran in headfirst without a second thought because he was so wrapped up in making up for his past mistakes and he didn't even realize he was making another one.

The tightening in his chest is so familiar now he doesn't even push back against it. He can feel the memories at the edges of his mind like they're daring him to slip up, to take one more step into the hole he’s dug himself and fall back in. He tears a piece of medical tape off with his teeth, nudges David’s arm and he immediately brings his hand up to hold the gauze in place, letting Hal lean in closer to tape it down. When Hal’s satisfied with the bandage over his ribs, he leans back onto his heels and reaches up to slide the bandana off Dave’s forehead. If he notices the tears beading in the corners of Hal’s eyes, he doesn't say so. Hal goes through the motions mechanically, looking anywhere but his face.

“Hal,” it's the first thing he’s said since the car. Cold fingers come to rest on Hal’s face and he freezes, deer in the headlights. Dave’s thumb strokes over Hal’s cheek and he didn't even realize he was crying until David wipes the tears away. “You saved my life.”

It's like a punch in the gut. He wouldn't have had to save his life if he hadn't been so damn selfish and naïve in the first place. “No, I--“

“ _Hal,_ ” and there it is, that Hal-you’re-being-an-idiot face, “will you at least let me thank you?” And he can't help but laugh at that, a little breathless, but Dave laughs too and for a moment it almost feels _normal_. Except David's hand is still on his cheek and his eyes are so clear, so focused and Hal follows them and _oh,_ he's staring at his mouth. He slides the hand on his cheek to the back of his neck and Hal lets him tilt his head forward until their foreheads are touching, breath mingling, and Hal’s blood is roaring in his ears loud enough to drown out the whispers of doubt.

And then David kisses him.

His lips are cold and chapped, scraping across Hal’s, and his hand on the back of Hal’s neck is a solid, comforting presence. It’s a chaste, quick kiss, and Dave pulls back almost as quickly as he leaned in but his hand stays in place and Hal is hyper-aware of the contact like electricity across his skin. They’re still close enough that Hal could kiss him again. “Thank you,” Dave’s voice is still rough and he’s giving Hal that lopsided grin that makes his heart flutter and Hal doesn't know if it wants to cry or scream or crawl on top of Dave and devour him so instead he sits, frozen.  

“God.”

“Yeah.”

It’s the sound of sirens that finally spurs them both to move. Hal rocks back onto his heels and peers up at the window, but there's no flash of red and blue, and after a moment the sirens fade into the distance. Not coming for them, then. Still, he knows getting out of the city is gonna be a bitch. He sighs, takes off his glasses briefly and rubs his hand over his face. “We need to go,” he says and that finally shatters the moment between them like glass, forces them back to reality. “We can call Nastasha in the car and see if she has a place for us to lay low for a while.”

Dave nods and reaches for the faded t-shirt Hal brought him from the van, pulling it over his head with a little difficulty. Hal helps him to his feet and he shimmies into his jeans too, still a little wobbly but at least he’s able to stand without Hal having to hold him up. “We good?” He gives Hal this searching look and Hal’s not sure if he’s asking if they're ready to go or about the kiss or about them in general, the last two years they've spent glued to each other's sides.

Regardless, Hal realizes, the answer is the same. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”


	3. 2009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York, April 2009.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warnings for discussion of past childhood and sexual abuse.

Sirens echo between buildings, the streets of New York slowly waking up to discover the damage done while they were asleep. Snake and Otacon drive in careful silence, both still running on adrenaline (and in Otacon’s case, caffeine), wired, keyed-up. Snake rolls down the window and lights a cigarette, and Otacon doesn't say a word, just watches him with a hollow stare. Snake cuts through back alleys and quiet streets until they reach the apartment they’ve stayed in for the last four months. The car idles in the parking spot, a careful sort of tension humming in the air. For the first time, Snake speaks. “Are you alright?”

Otacon doesn’t quite look at him. “Yeah,” he nods, feels more like he’s convincing himself than Snake, “yeah, let’s go inside.”

He feels more than sees the look Snake is giving him – he knows it well enough, the worry that makes his face look five years older, brows knitted together, corners of his mouth almost imperceptibly turned down. He doesn’t believe him. Thinking about it, Otacon knows he probably shouldn’t. He resolutely stays a few steps behind as they walk up all three flights of dirty stairs until Otacon pulls the key from his pocket with shaking fingers and it clicks in the lock.

Hal makes it five steps in the door before he breaks down. He hits the floor before he realizes, doesn’t even know he’s crying until a sob rakes his throat raw. Emma is dead –the realization knocks the air from his lungs, sets his head spinning. She’s dead because he couldn’t save her, because he failed her again like he did when they were kids. He curls in on himself, trembling, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. She’s dead because he’s weak.

Hal doesn’t hear David move, but he’s suddenly kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “Hal?” He speaks softly, and when Hal looks at him he has that same worried expression on his face.

Hal falls into him, lets David catch him and hold him upright because he’s not sure he can hold himself up anymore. “I let her die,” his voice sounds too quiet compared to the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears, “she-she trusted me again and I—“ he forgets how to speak and curls into Dave’s shoulder instead.

Dave braces his hand on Hal’s back, the other gripping the top of his arm, “Hal,” he murmurs, and it’s almost painful how gentle his voice is. He’s calm, a rock amid the crashing sea, and Hal grabs onto that calm and holds for dear life.

“I didn’t protect her,” his chest feels too tight, like he’s drowning, “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not,” Dave’s hands are warm, strong, his fingers threading into Hal’s hair. “Shh, shh,” Hal is shaking in his arms, face pressed into his shoulder, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

“No,” Hal shakes his head, “no, I—“

“Hal,” David leans back and slips his fingers under Hal’s chin, tilting his face up so gently that it’s almost unsettling, “listen, you can’t beat yourself up about it.” Hal looks up at him and all he can think is that he doesn’t look like a killer, not when he’s frowning at him like this, touch feather-light on his face. “You did what you could. That blood isn’t on your hands.” The entire world shrinks until the two of them are all that exists, sitting knee-to-knee on the warped linoleum. One of David’s hands is still on Hal’s back, Hal’s fingers still gripping the front of Dave’s shirt, holding him still, keeping him grounded. They stare at each other for an impossibly long moment. Dave purses his lips wipes a stray tear from Hal’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Hal takes a shaky breath. “She trusted me,” he repeats. He can’t hold David’s gaze, can’t face that infinite patience, the gentleness in his unguarded expression that he doesn’t deserve.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“No, that's not it,” David deserves to know. He’s earned that much at least. “There’s –“ His breath hitches, voice catching on the words. “There's something I have to tell you.”

Dave’s eyes search his face, looking for something, looking through him. “Alright,” and he’s so understanding that it makes Hal ache. “Let's get off the floor at least, okay?” He asks and Hal nods, lets him pull them both up and over to the couch. Even when they sit, he doesn't let go of Hal’s hand, and the constant presence is reassuring.

Hal opens his mouth to speak, but he realizes he doesn't know what to say.

“Hal, you don't owe me anything,” Dave squeezes his hand, strokes his thumb over the back of it.

Hal shakes his head. “No, I just…” How do you turn memories like these into words? For years, it's been this haze at the edges of his consciousness, images that filter in and out of his mind when he sleeps, sounds and thoughts and guilt like lead weights tied to his body, pulling him down, down, down every time he gets just a little too tired to fight them. “I've never told anyone about this.”

A beat, and then: “Well, that's not exactly true, I guess. I… mentioned it, after Emma…”

“About your…?”

“My dad, yeah. And… Julie,” Saying her name again after all these years feels unnatural. His tongue doesn't curl around it like it used to, like it did when she’d—

Hal breathes. David’s hand settles into the curve of his elbow. He can't lose himself this time.

“You’ve told me about your father before,” Dave supplies when Hal is quiet for a little too long.

He’d told David about his father two years ago, a week after the tanker went down in the Hudson. It had seemed right, somehow, to tell him that his father died in the same way he almost had. But some secrets are harder than others to bring to light. He takes a deep breath. “When I was fourteen or fifteen, my dad just… came home with a new family. Julie and Emma, her daughter from her previous marriage. They got married a few months later,” now that he’s started talking, the words come easier, falling from his lips before he can even think. “It was nice, for a little while,” there's a fondness for those earlier days Hal can’t divorce from his voice, a wistful vision of a family that never really existed below the surface, “He still… ignored me, but he spent more time at home with Julie, and I had Emma. We ate dinner together every night and he’d pretend to listen when Julie asked me about what I was working on. I played house with E.E., taught her how to ride my old bike, gave her piggyback rides. It was… it felt like I finally mattered.

“It didn't really last, though. Julie used to joke that he was married to his work more than her,” and that's when the tears come back, slipping down his nose, falling from his chin. Hal twists away from David’s side, curls in on himself because it's easier than facing him when he can hardly face himself. “She was…” and God, saying this out loud is almost worse than the memories. “She was so lonely, and I –“ He sobs, the noise barreling out of him before he can stop it, and Dave sets his hand on Hal’s thigh, squeezes gently. The gesture is familiar – _I’m here, it's alright, you're safe._

“She treated me like an actual human being. N-no one had ever… My dad always talked to me like I was a fucking child, like I didn’t understand anything, but Julie…” He can feel Dave’s eyes on him, burning hot, “She talked to me. She treated me like an adult when no one ever had before.”

“You weren’t an adult, Hal,” Dave says, and his voice is dangerously low, edged with razor-sharp aggression. It sends chills down Hal’s spine.

Hal makes a soft, pained noise in the back of his throat because David is _right_ but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t his fault. “We started spending more time together while Dad was away. She’d get drunk, sometimes, and tell me things she never told him. S-she felt so alone, like he didn’t care, like he didn’t even _want_ her and I… Understood. We both just wanted him to care.”

Hal doesn’t want to say this, doesn’t want this out in the open even when he knows Dave heard him tell Emma’s lifeless body hours ago because there’s something so much more real to telling him now. He’s kept this secret so long, and now he’s laying himself bare in front of the one person who matters most, handing him this last piece of himself and waiting for him to drop it. “I… E.E. was at a friend’s house and Dad wasn’t going to be home for hours and Julie and I were… She kissed me, and I just… _let_ her.”

“Hal—“

“It wasn’t her fault. I… I wanted it. She took me upstairs and we… had sex,” his voice is barely above a whisper and he stares down at his hands. He can’t stop the tears from coming again, crumples in on himself, falls like a house of cards and barely manages to force the words from his throat. “I didn’t stop. I-I wanted it so _badly._ ”

“You were a kid,” Dave snarls and Hal is startled into looking at him. That constant, gentle calm is gone – Hal can see the tight line of his jaw silhouetted by the gauzy light from the window, hears him breathe heavy through his nose. “You were a fucking kid, Hal, she took advantage of you.”

Hal feels small in the face of that anger, even when he knows it isn’t directed at him. “I wanted it. I knew what I was doing.”

“Hal—“

“That’s why he died. My dad wasn’t stupid, he figured out what was happening eventually. He… didn’t die in an accident.” Hal stumbles over his words, tries to desperately to piece the memory together in his mind well enough to spit it out and instead ends up tangled in it. “He took his own life. H-he killed himself while I was upstairs fucking his wife and E.E. went in with him. I didn’t hear her screaming. She was yelling for me and I didn’t even fucking hear her.” He curls in on himself, presses his palms to his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. There it is, then: David finally has the one part of himself he’s been too afraid to give. The silence that follows is deafening.

And then Dave pulls him back against his chest, wraps his arms around him so tightly that Hal can’t even try to squirm away, and buries his face in the crook of his neck. “It wasn’t your fault,” Hal doesn’t find the judgement he was expecting in Dave’s voice – only sadness and anger and that hard, protective edge that makes him feel far safer than he deserves.

The dam breaks. “She hated me. She _deserved_ to hate me,” Hal is full-out sobbing against David’s chest now, crying harder than he has in years. “I left them.  I knew it was my fault and I just,” he gasps, tries and fails to catch his breath, “ran away and spent the rest of my life _lying_ about it.” Dave smooths his hand over Hal’s hair and down his back. Hal can feel his muscles straining with barely-contained rage and his grip is almost too tight but Hal worries that if Dave lets go now he’ll fall back into the water, back into the churning tide. “Why did she try to follow me?”

Dave’s breath is hot against his skin. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, like a prayer. “None of it was,” He pulls back, holds Hal at arm’s length and just _looks_ at him.

“But Emma—“ Hal feels hollowed out, like someone reached inside him and tore everything out, laid him bare and empty. “I let her down again.”

 “You didn’t. She said so herself, Hal,” Dave keeps his voice so steady and even, his presence so solid and _physical_ that it gives Hal something to hold onto. The rock in the crashing waves. “She didn’t hate you.”

“Maybe she should have.”

“We can’t change the past, Hal,” David’s hand is warm on his thigh, the other sitting at the nape of his neck, fingers brushing his hair. “All we can do is live despite it, and make sure it means something.” Hal stares at him with watery eyes. Dave is still here, still with him despite the awful things he’s done. The thought gives him some measure of comfort. “Emma’s death isn’t your fault, but if it ends up in vain? _That’s_ on you,” Dave continues, and his mouth is set into a grim line, his expression serious now but still lined with that gut-churning worry. “Got it?”

For a moment, they’re both still. Then, Hal takes a slow breath, steadies himself, not breaking eye contact with David even when all he wants is to curl in on himself and shut it all out. Dave pulls him from the water and sets him back on the ground, unstable as it is. “Yeah,” he reaches up to wipe the last tears from his face and sniffles, “yeah, I understand.”

Already on his feet, Dave offers Hal his hand and pulls him up. “Wait,” he doesn’t let go of Hal’s hand, instead uses it to pull him closer, his other hand settling in the back of his hair and tilting his head forward. He’s so impossibly gentle when their lips touch that it sucks the air from Hal’s lungs and turns his already unsteady legs to jelly. It isn’t the first time they’ve kissed since Hal pulled Dave from the Hudson – far from it, in fact – but it takes his breath away all the same, a light-headed kind of weightlessness. “Love you,” He mutters, and that isn’t a new development either but Hal’s heart skips a beat anyway. Even when David breaks off the kiss, he keeps their foreheads pressed together for a moment, quiet, intimate. “Will you be okay for now?” Hal hesitates for second before he nods, and Dave presses another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Alright,” he says, just as pragmatic as ever, “let’s move out.”


	4. 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nomad, June 2010.

The lighting on the _Nomad_ is the kind of artificial that reminds Hal of long nights at MIT, huddled under buzzing fluorescents in front of CRT monitors until his eyes burned. He understands, of course, why there wouldn’t really be windows in a military-grade aircraft, but the lack of natural light seems stifling somehow. He almost laughs at the thought – five years ago, before he met David, he was content to go _weeks_ without seeing the sun. Now Dave’s restlessness seems to have rubbed off on him without him even noticing. Not that there’d be any sunlight at this hour, Hal realizes belatedly when he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen. He takes his glasses off briefly to rub his eyes before he pushes back from his desk and stands, stretching. He’s too antsy to get any real work done, his mind refusing to focus on one thing long enough to be productive.

Upstairs, Hal finds the door to Sunny’s small quarters open just enough that he can tell Dave is sitting next to her on the bed. His voice is quiet, barely managing to carry above the low rumble of the _Nomad_ , but Hal can hear the rustle of paper as he turns a page, Sunny’s tiny voice laughing at something Dave said, and decides to busy himself in the kitchen instead. He doesn’t want to interrupt their nightly routine, especially now that they’re in a new place – Sunny always has trouble falling asleep after they move when her routine is disturbed, and Dave’s new nightly tradition of reading to her has been working for a few months now. Instead, Hal roots through David’s carefully-organized cupboards to find a snack, eventually settles on a bag of chips, and grabs a water bottle from the fridge.

Fifteen minutes later, Hal hears the creak of the mattress as Dave rolls off the bed, and he watches him pause to lean in the doorway of Sunny’s small room. Hal’s shadow joins Dave’s in the doorframe, melting together until they become one dark swath across Sunny’s bed. “Hey,” he speaks softly to avoid waking her. She isn’t exactly a light sleeper, but he’s cautious all the same.

“Hey,” Dave nods without looking at Hal, still watching the slow rise and fall of the child’s chest. Hal sighs without realizing he’s even doing it and _that_ makes Dave look at him, his smile fond. He knows that sigh intimately. “What’s on your mind?”

A lot. More than there should be, really, but when is there not a lot on his mind these days? “I… Do you think she’ll adjust well?” He tilts his head in Sunny’s direction. “To living on the _Nomad_ , I mean.”

Dave gives it a bit of thought. “Don’t think she has a choice,” he says, honestly, after a moment. Hal frowns, and David reaches out until their fingers just barely brush and Hal catches his hand, threads their fingers together with practiced familiarity. “She’s young,” Dave adds, “and smart as hell. I’m sure she’ll be alright.” He gives Hal’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

It doesn’t do much to ease Hal’s fears that the two of them are still going to fuck up her life spectacularly, but it is somewhat comforting, at least. They fall quiet for a long moment, the _Nomad_ ’s engines humming. Hal wonders how long it’ll take them to get used to the constant movement and sound; Sunny seems to have taken to it alright, if the fact that she’s sleeping soundly is any indication, but knowing his and Dave’s track record, he sees a quite a few sleepless nights in their future. It’s worth it, he supposes, for the relative security a mobile headquarters offers. He and David won’t be sleeping in a new motel or apartment every few weeks, and they won’t have to uproot Sunny just as she starts to get used to a new place like they have been for the last year since they got her. Consistency is important for a child’s development, or so Hal read in one of the dozens of parenting books he picked up after Sunny ended up in their care.

In the end, they’ve done all of this for her, haven’t they? If Jack had never shown up in the middle of the night a little over a year ago, they’d still be living out of seedy motels and dirty one-room apartments, switching cars on deserted back roads and leaving trails of memories and thrifted 80’s CDs behind them. But Sunny changed them, changed everything. Their scratched-up 80’s albums are stacked neatly on a shelf now, not strewn across abandoned cars; they have a bed of their own, and though the furniture is still sparse and not quite homey, having a place to call home at all is something they haven’t had the luxury of experiencing in a long while. Dave strokes his thumb across the back of Hal’s hand, an unconscious gesture, warm and familiar. Hal smiles.

“This will keep her safe, won't it?”

Dave looks at him. Hal notices a few silver hairs growing in at his temples, a stark contrast against the rich brown even in the low light. It's a good look on him, Hal thinks. Makes him look a little more distinguished, a little wiser. “As safe as she can be, yeah,” Dave says, and Hal thinks he can see the lines on his face deepening too, just a little. Then again, maybe it's just a trick of the light? He isn't sure.

Hal lets his head fall against Dave’s shoulder and Dave lets go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arm lazily around Hal’s waist, pulling him closer. “I never thought we’d have a family,” he murmurs, and he hears David almost laugh, a warm exhale through his nose. “What?! That's what we are, isn't it? A family.”

David is quiet. Hal wonders for a moment if he struck a nerve – neither of them have particularly good associations with family. It’s a little frightening, honestly, for Hal to think he’s responsible for this when his memories of what a family should be are so tainted. But they _are_ one now whether they like it or not, the two of them and the little girl tangled in blankets in front of them. Dave exhales, “Yeah,” and Hal can hear the smile in his voice, “yeah, I guess we are.” When he tightens his hand on Hal’s waist, he smiles, too. They’re in this together; despite all their apprehension, despite the confusion, neither of them are doing it alone. The idea that Dave will always be beside him assuages Hal’s fears, somewhat.

He loves them. It's not the first time Hal has realized this, but there's a certain fierceness to the thought now, a kind of protectiveness he’d usually associate with David more than himself. There’s something about the _Nomad,_ about standing here in _their_ home with _their_ daughter (the word still feels odd, like it doesn’t belong to him, but it’s true; she _is_ their daughter) that makes it feel real in a way it hasn't before. He loves both of them more than he's ever loved anything in his life.

A long, quiet moment passes before David speaks. “We’ll protect her,” Dave sounds reassuring, but Hal has a feeling he's trying more to convince himself than him.

Hal nods, lifting his head off Dave’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he mutters, “we will.” Sunny stirs and they both go still, watching her carefully. When she settles again after a beat, Dave steps back from the doorway and pulls Hal with him, sliding the door closed carefully. Hal turns, sets his hands on Dave’s shoulders and leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Love you.”

Dave follows Hal when he pulls back, chases his lips with his own, “You, too.” He slings his other arm around Hal’s waist, too, and pulls him against his chest, both of them grinning when Dave leans in to kiss him again.

“I should get some more work done,” Hal mutters when they part, and makes a half-hearted attempt at escaping Dave’s arms.

David kisses him again, quick and light at the corner of his mouth, “Mmm, but it's late,” he nips playfully at Hal’s lower lip, “C’mon, let's go to bed.”

“ _Dave,”_ Hal pushes weakly against his chest, but Dave’s fingers dig into his hips and hold him in place. He grumbles performatively and scowls, but his anger has no teeth, “At least let me get a few things done.”  Dave starts to reply but Hal rolls his eyes before he can protest, “I’ll bring my laptop upstairs,” he offers, and that seems to placate him because he leans in to kiss Hal again before finally releasing him.

Hal makes the trek down the stairs to retrieve his laptop and back up before finding Dave already lounging on their bed, a dog-eared copy of a book he can’t quite make out the title of in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Hal wrinkles his nose, “Isn’t this supposed to be a non-smoking flight?” He plops his laptop down on the mattress and clamors gracelessly over Dave’s legs to tumble into place beside him.

Dave flicks the ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray sitting on the nightstand. Well – it’s less a nightstand and more a stack of cardboard boxes shoved up against the side of the mattress, but it’s not like they can afford to be picky with their furniture anyway. He only glances up at Hal briefly as he wiggles his way under the blanket, shifting to give him a bit more space, “Think that only applies on commercial flights,” he turns a page in his book and Hal leans over him to plug his laptop charger in.

“You’re gonna make our new sheets smell like smoke,” Hal scowls as Dave takes another drag and flips his laptop open. He starts sorting through satellite data, mostly on autopilot, storing bits that seem interesting away for further review and trashing the rest. David leans against his shoulder, warm and heavy, and the two of them fall into a comfortable rhythm, quiet but for the clicking of keys and rustle of paper. Hal doesn’t find much of interest, only a few things here and there, and ends up spending more time skimming over news articles without retaining any information while Dave leans more and more heavily on his shoulder with every passing minute.

In the end, it takes a little less than an hour for Dave to finally close his book, sliding it onto the box-turned-table and curling up against Hal’s side. “You going to sleep soon?” He settles his head against Hal’s chest and Hal takes one hand off his keyboard to slide it behind Dave’s shoulders.

Hal yawns, “I have some more work to do first.”

Dave slings an arm over his waist, “You sound tired.”

“Mm, a little,” Hal wraps his hand idly around Dave’s upper arm, traces the muscle with his fingertips.

“Then maybe you should sleep,” David is insistent despite the fatigue that slurs his words, peering up at Hal’s face through dark lashes, features outlined by the harsh blue light of the laptop screen.

Hal has never really been good at saying no, and David being so sleepy and clingy and warm next to him is far more persuasive than it has any right to be. He closes his laptop with a soft click and doesn’t miss the smug little smile on Dave’s lips as he leans over him to drop his computer next to Dave’s book. “Fine, fine,” he concedes, letting himself be dragged down until he’s close enough for Dave to plant a lazy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“G’night,” Dave nuzzles Hal’s cheek appreciatively before dropping his head back to his chest.

Hal sets his glasses on top of his laptop before his fingers find their way into Dave’s hair, “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i spent like 10 minutes studying the layout of the nomad's upstairs before i said fuck it and wrote it this way anyway because canon is fake who cares


	5. 2014 - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nomad, March 2014.

He’s dying. David is dying and there’s not a damn thing Hal can do about it.

They’ve known for a while now. If Hal was being honest with himself, he’d admit that they’ve known for close to a year; when the last of the color faded from Dave’s hair, they both  knew for certain that their peace wouldn’t last. But he’s never quite that honest; the final confirmation came only a few weeks ago, when the last test results came in. It’s different, somehow, now that Hal knows he’ll be returning to Shadow Moses Island – there’s a sense of finality to the realization. He feels like he’s signing his death warrant by even letting him go, like the moment Dave sets foot on that forsaken island he’ll be gone.

It’s that sense of panic that leads him to corner Dave upstairs in the tiny kitchenette once he and Sunny manage to get Jack stabilized. “Dave?” He’s leaning over the sink, elbows braced on the countertop, but he turns when he hears Hal’s voice and he looks so tired that Hal can hardly stand to look at him.

“What do you want, Hal?” His voice is gruffer now, rough with age that shouldn’t be his. The burn on his face is still raw and red, stark contrast against his paling complexion. Hal’s breath catches at the sight of it and he can feel tears welling in his eyes again despite himself.

What _does_ he want? He rubs his eyes under his glasses, looks away from Dave because it hurts to look at him, now. He wants to go back. The few good years they had seem like another life, and yet only six months ago they were crowded around their little table celebrating Sunny’s  birthday. For a little while, everything had almost been peaceful.

Of course, it wouldn’t stay that way. They’re all burdened by their sins. They can’t run from them forever.

So, Hal answers not-quite honestly: “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Dave grumbles, and _that’s_ normal, at least. “I’m fine,” he turns back toward the sink and leans forward, slides a cigarette out of the pack and lets it dangle between his teeth. He produces a lighter from his back pocket and it clicks once, twice before igniting, the sound like a gunshot in the silence that stretches between them now.

The air is still, quiet, suffocating. The _Nomad_ ’s engines hum, but to Hal it sounds less like the comforting purr he’s used to and more like a threatening rumble, the calm before a storm. David exhales smoke into the heavy air, a thin curl of gray. “I…” There’s a weight on Hal’s chest that feels like it’s going to crush him, forces the air from his lungs and makes whatever he was going to say die in his throat. Instead, he closes the distance between them with a hand on Dave’s shoulder. The smell of cigarette smoke is comforting, grounding, and Hal clings to that bit of normalcy fiercely.

He doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t reject his touch either, just takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Hal,” Dave’s voice is a low warning, but he finally meets Hal’s eyes. It takes everything in Hal not to kiss him because it’s been months and he’s not sure he’s ever missed anything as much as he misses the feel of David’s lips but he knows he can’t now so instead he just stands at an awkward, not-quite-intimate distance. Dave is gripping the countertop so hard that Hal can feel the strain of his muscles under his hand. “This could be our last mission,” he gives Hal a wry, self-deprecating smile and it turns his blood to ice.

“Back where it all began,” Hal murmurs, and Dave almost laughs. “We’ve been running from it for a long time, haven’t we?” He swallows the lump in his throat, glances at the blue rose on the shelf above the counter just to keep his eyes away from Dave’s intense gaze.

The silence is uncomfortable, the air stifling. Hal traces his fingers along the petals of the rose and listens to the shaky inhale as David takes another drag. “Hal,” Dave’s voice is low and Hal knows that tone intimately – that we-need-to-talk tone, the one usually reserved for pre-mission conversations and late night interventions, the one accompanied by that serious expression that makes Hal squirm. “Even if I get through this, I’ve got three months at best.”

Hal knows. He heard Naomi tell him in South America that he’d be a walking biological weapon. He’d have no choice but to end it himself if he didn't die before then. Neither of them have mentioned it since; they've just danced around the subject, let it be background noise to every conversation they've had, an odd tension in the air. Now, Hal feels like the room is closing in on him, like it's crumpling under the weight on his chest. When he finally tries to reply to Dave, the only noise he manages to make is a half-strangled sob, pitching forward and catching himself on the countertop.

“ _Hal,_ ” Dave uses his free hand to turn Hal toward him, “you've gotta keep it together,” he keeps his hand on Hal’s shoulder so he can’t twist away and stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray with the other. “C’mon, look at me,” he mutters and tilts Hal’s chin up with his fingers. Sparks scatter across his skin and he leans into the touch without even thinking, drinks up every bit of contact like it’s the first time. “We still have work to do,” Dave tells him firmly, “and you’re still going to have things to take care of when I’m gone.”

“It isn't fair,” Hal feels like he can't breathe. Downstairs, he can hear Sunny talking to Jack but her words are muffled by distance and the pounding in his head. Everything feels hazy, disconnected, like he’s miles away from his own body. “You expect me to just do all of this on my own when you’re gone but I _can’t,_ Dave!” Something in him snaps, a dam breaking, icy reality constricting his throat and replacing the blood in his veins with cold flame.

“You can,” and God, Hal wishes Dave weren’t so fucking calm because at least it would be easier to be angry with him if he weren’t just giving him that sad, serious look. “You’ll be alright.”

“No, you’re so wrapped up in this –“ Hal’s voice cracks but he can’t find it in him to care, “this ‘noble sacrifice’ or whatever it is, but what about us?” he hisses, low, ignores the tears pickling behind his eyes, “What am I supposed to do without you?” The way David looks so calm in the face of Hal’s mounting hysteria makes him feel almost silly but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, anyway.

Dave sighs and Hal is sure he’s going to chastise him, braces himself for the impact, but instead he just pulls him into his chest and threads his fingers into his hair. It’s closer than they've been in months and Hal buries his face in the crook of Dave’s neck and just _breathes_ , smoke and shampoo and home. He winds his arms around his waist and tries not to notice how much thinner he is than he was the last time he held him, tries to ignore how his breath comes short and labored in his ear. It’s not _fair,_ not when it's been three months since David has slept next to him, not when they should have another entire year, not when Dave has fought so long and so hard.

Hal tightens his grip on Dave’s shirt like maybe if he holds tight enough he can keep the world in place, like he can keep time from passing and pulling David away from him. Like this, with his eyes closed and Dave’s hand on the back of his neck, he can almost pretend everything is the way it should be. “I’m sorry,” he mutters when he finally finds enough air in his lungs to speak. “I love you.”

They're frozen for a moment, like the instant before glass breaks when it hits the ground. And then David pulls back and the glass shatters, shards slipping through Hal’s fingers faster than he can catch them, slicing him open on the way down. One of Dave’s hands stays on Hal’s shoulder and Hal doesn't release his grip on Dave’s shirt, but there's just a little too much distance between them now. “I know,” David’s voice is soft and the look he gives Hal is so sad that it feels like he’s going to fall apart all over again. And then, just like that he’s gone, pulling himself out of Hal’s grasp and toward the stairs. “I’m going to see how Raiden’s doing,” he doesn't look at Hal when he speaks this time, doesn't wait for a response, just hurries down the stairs before Hal can say a word.

He watches him go and doesn't follow.         


	6. 2014 - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alaska, August 2014.

The back door is open, and the breeze it lets in is cool with the first breath of autumn. Outside, Hal can hear Sunny humming to herself where she sits under the kitchen window, elbow deep in the soft soil as she plants her next round of flowers. He pours a second cup of coffee and makes his way to the door, steps deftly around the old rescue dog splayed out in the middle of the floor, and finds David watching Sunny from the rickety bench outside.

“Hey,” Dave looks up, gives Hal a smile.

Hal hands him his coffee cup, “Hey.” He settles down next to him and Dave offers him his hand without asking, lets Hal twine their fingers together. For a while, they fall quiet, sipping their coffee and watching Sunny in the grass, listening to the sounds of the tail end of the Alaskan summer. Seeing Sunny so excited about the outdoors makes Hal feel bad for the years she was cooped up on the _Nomad_ , even if she didn’t seem to mind it. She seems so happy in the sunlight, so much more energetic than she’s been in a long time. Now that they’re settling down, she’s getting a chance at the childhood she missed out on.

“It’s been good, hasn’t it?” Hal looks at Dave after a long moment. He looks so much older now than he did the day he came back from that graveyard months ago, but the realization doesn’t hurt like it would have once. It’s just a fact of life, more proof that time keeps marching forward even when he wishes it would stop.

Dave runs his thumb over the back of Hal’s hand. “Yeah,” He meets Hal’s eyes and his lips turn up in that lazy half-smile Hal fell so in love with years ago, still the same even though it’s a little more tired now, “yeah, it has.”

“Meesha!” Sunny’s voice comes bright and loud from the other side of the yard and the dog inside raises her head and wags her tail, scrambling to her feet and stopping just long enough to nuzzle at Dave’s hand and earn a few scratches behind her ears before bounding out to meet Sunny. They’d only been here a week when Dave mentioned getting a dog in an offhand comment but Sunny’s eyes went so wide that neither of them could say no when she asked, tentatively, if they really _could_ get one. Sunny and Dave both fell in love with her instantly–Hal swears he’s never seen Dave happier than when he was sprawled out on the living room couch with Sunny asleep on his chest and Meesha laying on his feet.

 Hal and Dave fall quiet again, watching Sunny race off toward the tree line with Meesha on her heels. She’s happy here -- they all are. Hal can’t remember the last time David seemed so at peace, but he seems comfortable here, in his element in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Then again, Hal realizes with a pang of grief, Dave knows he’s going to die here. The last month has been so idyllic that Hal could almost let himself pretend that things could stay like this forever, that they could live the rest of their years outside of time in their little house in the woods, but he knows their perfect life is on a timer that’s ticking down far too quickly. 

Sunny reemerges from the trees with a handful of wildflowers and pauses to wave at Hal and Dave before she plops down in the grass with the dog and begins trying to weave them into something approximating a crown. “I,” Hal swallows, blinks back the tears threatening to fall again, “I’ll take care of her, Dave.” _After you’re gone_ : The words left unsaid hang in the air like a fog, turn everything gauzy and distant.

“I know you will,” David says, softly. He sets his mug down and shifts just enough to let Hal move in closer. “I’m sure she’ll take care of you, too,” he gives Hal a wry smile and all he can think about is how much he’s going to miss him.

He doesn’t want to lose him.

It’s strange – he can’t protect him now, but the realization that there’s nothing he can do brings him some measure of peace. He’s been afraid to lose David for so long but now, pressed against his side in the midday sunlight, fingers intertwined, he isn’t afraid anymore. There’s nothing left to fear – Dave is going to die, but no amount of fear or grief will change that. Hal tries to focus on the time they have left instead, on the little moments like this one where the three of them can be a family without the ever-present threat of the Patriots looming over them.

Watching Sunny, though, Hal can’t help but wonder how much of this she’ll really remember as she grows older.  It won’t be all that long before the years she’ll have lived without David will outnumber the years she spent with him – ten years from now, will he be anything more than a hazy childhood memory? Meesha nuzzles at Sunny’s cheek and she flops back in the grass, laughs as the dog covers her face in sloppy kisses. David laughs, too, and Hal smiles because he’s not sure either of them realize how similar they really are. Whether Sunny remembers Dave well or not doesn’t matter, in the end, because his legacy is still hers – Hal can see him in the way she laughs, in the way her eyebrows knit together at a problem she can’t solve, in the determined set of her mouth in the face of the impossible. There’s some comfort in knowing he and Sunny both will carry these pieces of him with them after he’s gone, in knowing that everyone whose lives he touched will always have some small part of him.

“I love you,” Hal says, and there are tears in his eyes and his stomach feels hollow but Dave is smiling at Sunny and somehow everything feels right, even when it’s not.

David turns to look at him and before he can speak Hal leans up and kisses him. He’s careful, gentle, but Dave is responsive even now, winding his fingers into Hal’s hair and though his hands are frail now the warmth is familiar, welcome, and Hal still melts into his touch. “Love you, too, Hal,” Dave says when they part, and for a breath the world stands still and all that exists is the two of them, the warm sunlight on their skin, their heartbeats in perfect sync.

“Hal,” David pulls away enough to look him in the eye, “you gotta promise me you’ll take care of yourself, alright?”  Hal doesn't know he’s crying until Dave swipes a thumb over his cheek. “You’ve gotta move on.”

Hal breathes deep, steels himself. “I know,” he nods, and David gives him that soft, sad smile before he kisses him again, a quick brush of lips.

Dave is tired. Hal can read him well enough now, now that their nine years are closer to ten; he can see it in the curve of his spine, the set of his shoulders. He’s exhausted. He’s been fighting all his life, Hal knows, running from a past that’s always been one step behind him and never quite getting away. These days they’ve had together are the only peace he’s ever known, and yet Hal knows it isn’t enough, could never be enough. All the peace in the world couldn’t draw the weariness from his bones or smooth the scars from his skin, not now, not after so many years, not when the fatigue runs so deep and the scars have become a part of him. His eyes are still searching for something in Hal’s face and Hal just blinks back at him, reaches up to trace his fingers over his scarred cheek. He deserves the chance to rest, Hal thinks, when he’s fought for so long.

The moment is broken in an instant when suddenly Sunny is clamoring her way onto the bench between them. She ends up halfway into Dave’s lap instead, and he shifts her into a more comfortable position for them both, settling her with his arm at her back. She beams up at them, “I m-made you something!” Meesha trots dutifully over after her and curls up on the ground between Hal and Dave’s feet, tail thumping on the ground.

Hal takes his glasses off and wipes his eyes. Sunny’s giving him her most serious expression, watching him carefully as he replaces his glasses and schools his face into a smile. “Oh yeah? What did you make?” Sunny looks at him incredulously for another moment, as if making sure he’s really alright and not just putting on a brave face for her sake.

She presents him with two misshapen circles of wildflowers. “H-here,” she leans forward to place one carefully on top of his head, then twists around in Dave’s lap to give him the other. He scowls at her playfully but she just giggles in return and Hal knows Dave can't even pretend to be annoyed with her.

“Thanks,” Dave ruffles Sunny’s hair and leans in to press a kiss to the top of her head. She stretches up to plant a kiss on his scarred cheek in return, and snuggles closer to his shoulder, settling into the crook of his arm like she did when she was still small enough to fit.

“Thank you, Sunny,” Hal murmurs. She nods, fisting her hand in the front of Dave’s shirt and glancing up at him through dark lashes. Hal lets his head fall against David’s shoulder and uses the hand not pinned between their bodies to brush a fleck of dirt from Sunny’s cheek. Beside him, Dave sighs and shifts, wrests his arm from where it’s trapped and slings it around Hal’s shoulders. The dog below their feet thumps her tail against the dirt rhythmically; Sunny sighs, a soft, quiet sound, and shuts her eyes; Dave pulls Hal closer to his side. The midday Alaskan sun spreads warmth over his skin and into his bones, and the air is crisp and smells of grass and flowers and the death of summer.

If this is the end, Hal figures, then it isn’t a bad end at all.


	7. Epilogue - 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boston, November 2016.

Hal comes home to find the apartment empty. There’s a note stuck to a picture frame on the table by the door in Sunny’s messy, half-illegible scrawl: “took meesha out for a walk!” There are an unsightly number of hearts and flowers and other tiny doodles filling the rest of the available space on the post-it note and Hal smiles, carefully unsticks it from the photo frame. It's an old picture; David is asleep in the back seat some beat up old car, head propped against the window, and Sunny is passed out on his chest. Hal traces his fingers reverently over the edge of the photo frame before he drops his keys on the table along with the note and drapes his coat and scarf over the rack.

Hal spends a few minutes poking around the apartment, adding things to the grocery list on the fridge and watering Sunny’s flowers in the window. But the calendar on the wall stares him down, the date cut in harsh black against the white paper; he’s ignored it as long as he can, but finally it pulls him to the little table under the living room window. It's cluttered mostly with photographs, but there are a handful of dried flowers scattered at the base of the smooth metal pot nestled in the center of the table, bathed in milky autumn sunlight. Hal runs his fingers over its surface gently as he sits down. “Hey, Dave.”

He doesn't get an answer, of course, but he didn't expect one. He knows the ashes can't respond to him, but _someone_ told him once that even the dead have ears, so he talks anyway. Dave’s 30-something face scowls back at him from an old photograph on the table; they didn't take many pictures in those days and kept even fewer, but Hal remembers snapping that one on an old burner phone while they were laying low for a few weeks. He smiles at it fondly. “Sunny’s doing well in school,” he says to the open air, “Last time we talked I was worried she’d have problems with how young she is, but MIT has been really accommodating.” He laughs, “I guess I should expect that though, huh?” The silence that follows grows and stretches until it feels wrong, somehow, so Hal continues. “

“Work is good, too. It's nice being able to keep an eye on Sunny, and my students eventually stopped asking about you, so I guess that’s a plus,” Hal laughs again, a little awkwardly, pushes his glasses up his nose. “I used to think I’d hate teaching. It's funny,” He picks one of the flowers up from the table and rolls the stem between his fingers – a blue rose, the petals dry and brittle, “before you, I was so afraid of people. I was afraid of life. But… I’m not afraid anymore,” there’s something freeing in the admission, as if saying it aloud makes it true. On the table, there’s a photograph from their last summer in a silver frame, a shot of the three of them in Tokyo; Hal remembers Sunny very carefully asking a passerby to take the photo in halting, somewhat broken Japanese and spinning around to beam and him and Dave when he actually understood her. David has still been strong enough to carry her on his shoulders, then, and so that’s where she’s balanced in the photo, all three of them grinning wide at the camera. A snapshot of another time, another life, somehow simultaneously worlds away and so close he can still feel it.

Hal sighs, and finally faces the elephant in the room, the sinking feeling that's been chasing him since he woke up this morning. “It's been two years, Dave,” his voice is thick, tears threatening to fall, but he smiles despite it, “Can you believe that? You’ve been gone for two entire years,” he wipes the first tears from his cheek with the back of his hand, the other sitting lightly on the cool metal, thumb skimming over the only engraving on its surface: the date of his birth and his death inscribed in clean, uniform lettering. “But Sunny is alright and I—“ his breath catches, “I’m doing better. We’re okay,” a slow, halting breath, “I miss you. We both do. But I made you a promise and I intend to keep it.”

“Hal?” The front door swings closed and Hal hears Sunny’s footsteps joined by the clicking of Meesha’s claws on the wood floor. He turns to face her and the worried look she’s giving him nearly breaks his heart; her downturned mouth and knit brows make her look older in a way that's achingly familiar. “Are you okay?”

He smiles at her and that seems to reassure her somewhat. “Yeah, I’m alright. C’mere, sweetheart,” he motions her over and she pauses for a moment and gives him an incredulous look before kicking off her shoes and picking her way across the messy living room. She slots her hand into his when she can reach it, squeezes gently, and perches herself on his knee. He notices the bundle of flowers in her other hand, no doubt pilfered from flower boxes and bushes along the sidewalk, carnations in pink and white, chrysanthemums, and others Hal can’t quite place clutched tight between her fingers.

Carefully, Sunny sets the handful of blossoms on the table in front of the urn. Hal watches as her fingers skim the brushed metal, sees her bite her lip in the way she does before she cries. She looks at him and Hal ruffles her hair. “They’re pretty,” he tucks a bit of blonde hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear, “I’m sure he loves them.”

“You think so?”

“Of course,” Hal says. Sunny lets go of his hand and rests both her palms on the urn reverently. “Sunny,” she doesn’t look at him when he speaks, just stares ahead at the metal beneath her fingers, “he loved you very much. You’re the most important thing in the world, for both of us,” She nods and sniffles, and Hal leans forward to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Dave told me a long, long time ago that if you love someone, you have to be able to protect them. He did everything he could to protect you.”

“He protected us both,” Sunny says, matter-of-fact despite her sniffling. She turns and wipes a tear from Hal’s cheek, too, and he laughs.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes flitting back to the photographs on the table, to David’s face looking out at them, “yeah, he did.”

“I miss him.”

“Me too, sweetie.”

“But… we’re okay, aren’t we? I… I think he’d be happy if he saw us now.”

Hal smiles, “I think he’s very proud of us both.” He catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, a rare photo where David was caught _really_ smiling, and finally, Hal can't find it in him to cry anymore.

There’s more to life than loss, after all.

Sunny turns around and throws her arms around his neck and presses her face into his shoulder. Hal lifts her back into his lap and she curls into him, clinging to his shirt like her life depends on it.

“Hal,” she looks up at him, teary-eyed but giving him a lopsided smile that looks so much like Dave’s it makes his heart skip a beat, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sunny. More than you know.”

_I’ll protect her, David. I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically this ended up being eleven years rather than nine but. it's fine. 
> 
> (also, i can be found on [ tumblr](http://metalgearraiden.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/raaidens)!)


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